I can fly (if I shoot upwards at a velocity higher than 9.81 m/s)

I can do math. I can remember tons of chemistry. I can draw almost to reality. I can drop a shuttlecock with shocking finesse. I can get good grades - like, really good grades. I can even make friends.

I'm working the pushups. I'm working the paint. I'm working the running. I'm working the badminton game. I'm working the attitude. I'm working the leadership. I'm even working the weights.

But you know what I can't do? I can't do God, because I'm a flopping, imperfect, immoral sinner, tied to this world with chains of conceitedness and materials and acceptance.

Praise the Lord for his love and forgiveness of us. Thank the Lord because he took up the crushing and suffocating burden of my sins and the world's sins, of every imperfection and every disappointment, of every corruption and every depression. And love the Lord because he died and rose again so we could live.

Proverbs

Fools hate knowledge. 2:22

For the simple are killed by their turning away, and the complacency of fools destroys them, but whoever listens to [the Lord] will dwell secure and will be at ease, without dread of disaster. 1:32-33

For wisdom will come into your heart. 2:10

Let not steadfast love and faithfulness forsake you; bind them around your neck. 3:3

Well, can you see how it kind of connects? It's part of a story - God's story.

By the way, what is love?

There is a theological answer to that question. And a sexual contemporary world answer. But I have heard one word that prods my conscience the most:

Sacrifice.

Love is sacrifice.

Four thirds radius cubed

Sometimes there was one person who flooded my entire thought capacity with his image, his words, and his touch.
Those sometimes have faded away. There is no one who haunts my mind behind its dark, heavy tapestries of escape. There is no one who crawls in my heart and grabs the numbers that should be calculating themselves as I scribble them across the page.
Now, now what? I am no longer someone else. We are our thoughts, and I used to only think people. So I was people - I was a person - but I was not anything more than simply my elementary dreams.

This gives me some space. I never had space before. This space is worth exploring...
Only, I have found nothing to have any, utter significance, except God.

Cogito ergo sum?

Words don't mean anything anymore because intentions speak for them.

My extracurricular involves arguing. This is my ticket to college, the star on my classy resume, my pride and joy. I argue because I like it. I argue because I can't do this in reality. Reality is for losers.

This extracurricular is my mask. I talk to people not because I want to know them, but because I want them on my side. My smile is insincere, I laugh for followers, not for the heck of it. This is practice, practice for reality, a loser's world. People aren't always going to like you, they say, so you have to pretend. You're not yourself anymore. This is a world where you can't be yourself. You're everybody's best friend. Nerds? No. What is this word, I do not understand. Flirting? Underrated. Acting preppy? Arguably, I've incorporated that into my life. Something I hate. But I love it, I love it.

This extracurricular is image. Pants? I don't wear them. Skirts and dresses make boys like you more, and it's true. Won't you remember a girl in a sexy skirt more than a girl in boring black pants? Clicking high heels, parted hair in a Wall Street-worthy updo, a spritz or two of perfume. Glamor at its finest. I put my costume on and I am a different person. Goodbye, sweet. Hello, fierce.

I play this extracurricular like a game. It is a game. Perform well, instant elevation. You're not right for it? That's fine. I don't care. I don't care about anybody except for myself and my team, but I'm against them, too. This is an individual sport, a bloodbath. Of course there's cheating. Enemies are like your best friends for life, the epitome of oxymorons.

I remember that I am worthless to people with whom I play. I am worth nothing unless I fight for it. How can I ever prove myself if I don't try? Politics infiltrate even the team, there's not a trace of sincerity. Nobody cares about others. What a self-centered world I love.

I am not a monster.

But I love it. I love it so much.

So much for Motherland

I stood beneath a nine story building. There was no elevator, only uneven stone steps spiraling upwards into the sky with the other thousands of exhausted apartments. The area was home to piles of shack-like garages selling fried tofu with a fetid odor of urine. I ran up and down the stone stairs of the apartment building. My thighs burned, but all I thought of were the calories I would never burn if I gathered dust indoors and dealt Majiang tiles to seniors. Sweat stuck my clothes to my skin, but I remembered the onerous ladles of soup I would soon be forced to drink while in the humidity, steam draped itself across my face. Eating, drinking, and gambling. All of that would only precipitate to starving, begging, and dying.

I stood on top of a mountain of reclined climbing, soaking in the muggy clouds and dampening trees, watching a mass of college students scramble over stone structures with gaiety. They defied all rules, totally ignoring the lame families around them, while I? I posed for photographs with my family. We smiled into the camera with our faces. Our faces blocked out the mountains. No matter how high the cliffs soared, the camera would only capture our visages. The mountain, the sky, the city were completely casted in a saturated wetness that did not weigh anyone down, but lifted the earth to meet our eyes, yet not the camera’s.

I walked to the biggest, richest, most high class restaurant in the city square for a family reunion of twenty people. Hearing one, strong voice resounding in the rush of the hour, without music, I spun to see three men on the dirty, saliva-stained walkway. The singer held a microphone and as he dragged himself across the floor. A trash bag hung limply around his waist. He had no legs. His accompanying cripple sat on a scooter, crawling with spider-like feet, legs that were thinner than my arms. Beside the two men stood a midget, holding out his hat for money to the pedestrians towering two feet above him, who never gave the trio a glance. I passed the performers without the slightest gaze, with enough money in my pockets to buy them a karaoke machine.

I ate egg tofu, the flowers in my tea, sweet and sour fish, salted beef turnovers, and colorful domes of sticky rice, disgusted that I ate this luxurious food, disgusted that everyone ate with a delicacy and etiquette, disgusted that our host ordered some dishes to be taken away and done differently. Leftovers were whisked away to be dumped outside for the dogs and homeless. Bloated, our family ambled out to find an old beggar imploring for money, shuffling down a line of well-dressed citizens.  “去,” my uncle spat. “骗子，走!” My dad pulled out a wallet of cash and sifted through a pile of 100 RMB bills carefully. Finally, he dug an extra coin out of his pocket and donned it to the croaking beggar.

I stood on a mountain once more, this time rearing over the remains of the Sichuan earthquake. An elementary school lay buckled at my feet, walls crushed and roof shattered. Hiking up the mountain only to find rows and rows of graves, I passed line after line of small boys grasping yellow flowers, advertising them at an unimaginably cheap price. A baby waddled past with a gun in his hand. He toddled by a bridge snapped in two.  No big deal, the bridge was only a couple tons of concrete; its collapse only wiped out a couple cars, a couple of families.  I stepped around the child vendors and past the rubble. The money my tourist group paid to see this site for two hours could have built a makeshift village for these people.

Neighbors in the apartment building died from heart attacks. My grandmother is almost blind. There has been a mudslide at the earthquake site and whatever huts still stood are now buried. I saw this, turned around, backed into an airplane, and left.

Extreme hoarding will scare your spouse away.

Ayo, sappy new year's post.

JK.

But seriously.

We make friends to benefit ourselves. We love people cos they contribute significantly to our lives. We give gifts to show our thanks and appreciation for their time and efforts to us.

So cool, humans are, always thinking about 1-up-ing ourselves. We're like Mario and the 1-up mushroom. Eat one, and you can pounce Goombas with twice the power jump, twice the speed, and not to forget, annihilate Troopas with laser beams, yeah? But in the end, you get your reward of maybe 10000 coins and Princess Peach, right? Otherwise there's no point in getting better. There's no reason to make friends with Ol' Toad or become acquainted with Luigi.

Well, I mean if you want to benefit me, hey come my new friend, come.

But really, time to put aside hoarding and start giving (not just physical box-like presents, but time, effort, and love) just because. Just to show God's love. 

LOL but in all conscience, even though this sounds likes I'm on a spiritual high, FALSE. WRONG. F MINUS. ZERO PERCENT. I'm just tired of sucking friendly initiatives that I never even thought about.

In good company.

Ah, it's nice to have friends like these.

(And grades like these. For now, that is. Keep it up, Geometry! I believe in you!)

For now, I am content. This is a good thing, I think.

"This is called staying alive. It's temporary."

David Wagoner was a smart guy.

My friends are doing well, everybody's staying afloat. Grades aren't dropping, relationships aren't ending, Facebook is wasting time. Dear God, is it wasting time. I blame this on you, blog. Making me write even though I should be studying for the death trap known as

FINALS

Cue scream.

Rediscover

I am about to go to church for the first time in half a year.

Half a year.

It's youth group, not really straight-up conservative Sarah-Palin church. Does it matter? I don't think it does.

I look up to the people who find Him every day. They see Him, they feel Him, they learn from Him. Every day. I wish I could do that.

Granted, I've been trying. But it's so easy to turn and hate those little ditzy brunettes with the short-shorts, Uggs, and the aggressively-straightened hair. It's so easy to disregard the parental units. It's so easy to ignore everybody else and just concentrate on me.

To be selfish

To be lazy

To be everything I don't want to be.

I talk to Him a lot, more casually than I should, I think.

Me: Hey, God. What are we gonna do today?

What I presume He says: Whatever you want to do.

Me: We're going to school.

Him: Okay.

Him: How was your day?

Me: It was okay, with the usual drama.

Him: Drama?

Me: Yes, You know.

Him: Yes, I know. What are you going to do about it?

Me: I don't know. You'll show me the right way, won't You?

Him: As always.

After these conversations, everything seems work out okay.

I don't believe you

Relationships.

The inevitable blog post discussing quite a controversial topic indeed.

Relationships.

The friend, the teacher, the boyfriend, the girlfriend. The parent, the counselor, the acquaintance, the idol.

For some reason, there are four listed above that are uncannily misused too often.

THE FRIEND:

The one who eats your food without asking, the one who sees you without asking, the one who listens to you without asking.

Give or take, that also applies to

THE GIRL-BOY-FRIEND:

Typically the "significant other", the "one", your true knight in shining armor (or tin foil), the girl of your dreams (or fantasies), your hubby (or tubby), your baby (or literally?!?!), the one person you are allowed to kiss on the lips because in today's society, doing so to anyone else is cheating or possibly homosexual.

Or rather, if you enjoy screwing life around, your player, your slut, your whore, your jock, your boobs, your social status, your game, your self-esteem.

THE ACQUAINTENCE:

The one you ask for math help, the one you partner up with because you are a dork without a partner, the one who tells you everything you really don't care about.

THE IDOL:

The one you admire and follow with your mind and eyes, the one who doesn't know you but you even know their fax number, the one you cheer for simply because you love them.

Now toss out your brain and put your heart next to each of these and determine who or what you really are.

The Third Realm

I hate perfect.

Perfect is so boring.

First there is no challenge. Then there is no failure. Then there is no determination. Then there is no motivation. Then there is no overcoming. Then there is no accomplishment. Then there is no human.

Utopias are perfect.

I hate utopias.

My utopia is my dystopia.

Mess with my grades. Sever my relationships. Choke my hope, beat my love, pull my brain.

Make me weak.

And I will become strong.

Suck it, Satan, you won't get me.

And I know you know my friends' worst secrets. I know the crap you whisper in their ears and the crap you whisper in mine. I know you know I know because as long as it's communicated, you know. I know you know, the vast majority of people express what they think. Almost everything they think. I know you  know my friends' worst secrets and many of mine, because we express what we think.

But you also know you have done to us everything above. Screwed our lives over at some point. If you haven't you will, because sometimes people just forget that the Holy Spirit is even there. Even if you have already you can certainly do worse. Dear. You can certainly do worse.

My friends may not know this but I certainly do, and if one day they believe then you'll never take us again, because I know you have demons crawling everywhere in the spiritual realm, I know you, Lucifer, are going around screaming the most hideous nightmares in the people who are suffering the most. Then here, Satan, remember this.

That at the name of Jesus, every knee shall bow, on heaven, on earth, and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

I command you, Satan, in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior, to leave the threshold of our lives. Go where Jesus goes. In the name of Jesus, stop hurting us. In the name of Jesus, stop hurting the innocent.

I wish you guys were still angels. I wish you never fell from heaven to become evil.

Every little thing she does is magic.

And so begins the journey towards perfect.

I don't think your average high-schooler consciously thinks about perfect often, but the goal of high school is just pushing us to perfect.

Who's the best at this? Who's the best at that? Is your ACT score higher than mine? Are you going to a Top 5 magnate school? Who's good? Who's better? Who's best?

Precisely.

Adults tell us to try our best and don't stress out because everything's gonna be okay.

My PE teacher has actually started to check in on me. He asks me how I'm doing and how much homework I have. He tells me that I have to relax and try not to break my brain because, you know, I can only do so much.

I tell him that I try to get enough sleep, try to keep my brain intact, stay away from alcohol and drugs because they don't solve my geometry problems for me. He laughs and smiles, but I still think he's worried. And my situation isn't even close to the worst.

I once made a list of all the things I wished I could do. Get a superhighsupercool GPA. Obtain a free ride to my college of choice. Appease my parents, help my brother. Have a life (yeah, haha). If only they actually helped me achieve all of those goals. Yeah, it didn't.

I spend my free time planning out my life. Today, to take a break from brainbreaking geometry, I recolor-coded my four-year high school career plan. (And yes, by recolor-coding I mean that I've color-coded it already. It just wasn't schmancy enough, let's face it.) I printed it out, made a key, and went colored-pencil happy with filling in boxes for courses I would take.

And yes, I had fun.

I also had fun converting grams to liters using the mole. For chem, naturally.

Anyway, since the beginning of middle school, I've known where I'm going to live, what I'm going to do, where I'm going to go, but this doesn't assist me in my goal of perfect.

I have friends who are so amazingly good at every little thing they do, and I think they wish for perfect, too.

BUT GUESS WHAT, HIGH SCHOOL.

Nobody's perfect.

Meet my new friend.

He is always beside me

even after the end

wiping my tears away (what tears? :P)

being my best friend

He smiles when I smile

and feels the pain I do

if I cry a single tear

I can reach out my hands

and out from my heart

He will rest in my palms

Still fresh and plump… prunes

Yay midterms.. Of the midterms.

Really?

We're a quarter through the school year, kind of. Maybe. Like, 15%.

And homework from.. Enriched Chemistry is stressing freshman out?

Freshman?

Buying off Fitness Plans?

AP World charts?

Friendship dramas are acting up. Again?

What. the crap.

We're so.. 8th grade. Why don't some people just look at their future and realize that it's soaked in Bud Light and crack, and then look at their present and realize it's full of smoke and sex?

Well, actually if you're taking AP World, you probably don't do that stuff.

 Instead, why don't we look at our future and realize it's potentially full of great works of science, math, medicine, and arts, and then look at our present and realized B+ isn't a reason to whip ourselves?

Maybe a little bit. So we feel the blood and adrenaline pump up our brains again.

And along the way, we might as well realize cheating will only kick our behinds sore when we take the SATs or final AP exams.

And that romances complicate our focus and apparently, no one knows how to handle them. Ever.

Why don't we now?

The bell-curve of course.

Some one has to take that average-C crest.

Sin is from the outside

Let's shake these demons off and bring Heaven DOWN.

Growing Up or Growing Older?

I don't remember a time when I wasn't concerned with getting older.

Kindergarten: Fifth-graders? Whoa, there. Practically adults. Okay, time to go back to playing with cardboard blocks.

Third grade: I'm getting too old for baby games now. *retrieves Tamagotchi* But those old people [namely, fourth-graders] never look like they're having any fun.

Fifth grade: *convulses with fear for middle school* What if I become...a TEENAGER?

Seventh grade: Ew, boys. *retreats to book*

Eighth grade: Eh, boys. Ew. HIGH SCHOOL! Gross. Oh, geez, what if I have no social life? What if I have no friends? What if people think I'm stupid? What if I don't get into an Ivy League? Oh, no! High school! Boys! Drama! *runs away screaming*

Age is wisdom, beauty, experience, knowledge, omniscience--all that nonsense that old people use to console themselves when they're feeling particularly fat/wrinkly/obsolete.

But that, obviously, is a choice.

Why feel fat when you can feel happy?

Why feel wrinkly when you can feel joyful?

Why feel obsolete when you can feel young?

Because of my back. Because of my spouse. Because of my arthritis in both knees. Because of my job. Because of my life. Because of my friends. Because I have absolutely NO PURPOSE in living.

No.

It's like this, see:

Growing older is mandatory.

Growing up is optional.

Beach

The shallow end; stay there, stay safe, no sharks, no drowning, no jellyfish stings.

Just sitting wherever you crap, tanning for the hunks, on one, small resort.

The deep end; sharks, jellyfish, drowning, concussions, popping ears, gasping breaths.

Seeing  plankton and starfish, battling fatigue, because the ocean never ends.

The shallow end; not a single scar on your body, perfect skin, sexy, slim, dieted bod.

Oh, and you got those hunks.  42-karet purity ring  thrown to the side when you climb in the hotel bed.

The deep end; some mutilated flesh, maybe? Permanent scars all over your gaunt face.

The salt detoxicate the poison, so you keep going, ignoring whatever is happening at the surface.

The shallow end; your turn to swim.

You drown. Because your size zero waist and cute butt can't run off the 1000 calories you consume. The tobacco might have disintegrated your lungs to phlegm and, oh, you never bothered to learn how to swim. It would mess up your perfect eye shadow. Duh.

The deep end; take a break, you've been swimming and diving so long.

Dear, your muscles flex when you walk. The hunks drool.

You walk past them all. You find that you can't stand to explain the ocean to them. It's too big.

A tsunami;

The tanners are screwed. Washed into the tides.

The swimmers barely flinch. What's a tsunami next to fighting mermen with tridents?

The swimmers hold out their hands.

The tanners grab on.

The shallow end; stay there, stay safe, forget about the tsunami.

Just sitting wherever you crap, tanning for the hunks, on one, small resort.

The deep end; sharks, jellyfish, drowning, concussions, popping ears, gasping breaths.

Seeing  plankton and starfish, battling fatigue, because the ocean never ends.

The quest continues.

Is it really useless? To understand yourself?

Of course it's ego central. Your world revolves around yourself.

Usually. If you're average. The mode. The median. The mean.

But if you don't understand yourself, how can you understand other people?

What they feel? What they think?

Humans learn by experience.

Less by emotion, because emotion screws up experience. Nevertheless, emotion and experience.

Constantly changing. Self-discovery is about finding those patterns.

Finding those patterns in others.

There are 疯人, les fous, crazy people - who have twisted logic, but that is inevitable.

You are the only person you can control. So maybe it is important to learn how your gears turn.

…

By rotation inertia, D'OH.

Because if you can't control yourself, very likely you will not be able to even influence others. And because the product of mass  and the square of the radius  equals  circular momentum.

No one who solves the world's problems doesn't know who he or she is.

Albert Einstein knew he was a scientist. He had some pretty sophisticated sounding epigrams  he left us after his death.

"Science without religion is lame. Religion without science is blind."

"Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new."

He was pretty sure about who he was and what he thought when he discovered the photoelectric effect , winning himself the Nobel Prize in physics.

And perfect people. Who wants perfection? It seems wonderful to live in that kind of crap for a year. Or maybe a lifetime. The one thing that screws humans over when it comes to perfection.. is greed. Pride. Self-indulging things. We could study and become IQ300 mad scientists and, seriously, solve the world's problems. If we just stopped buying ice cream for a year, likely over half of Africa would stop dying from thirst. But no, we want to hang out with our friends. We want to date, Facebook, play sports, you know, eat ice cream. How much more useful are those than self-discovery? Ego is what makes us human, not perfect robots.

Robots, by the way, rust.

Like so. Fe(OH)3 => Fe2O3.nH2O

And the quest begins.

Self-discovery, right?

I'm pretty sure there is not one person in the world who really knows who they are inside, and I doubt there ever will be.

But why is this the Great Human Obsession?

Who am I inside? Who am I outside? What do people think of me? What do I think of myself?

If you ask me, it's all pretty conceited and egocentric.

MEMEMEMEMEME! Me! Me! ME! Who likes ME? Who hates ME? What do I think of ME? Who is ME?

And yet we're told not to be self-obsessed.

I'm finding ME. I'm finding MYSELF. I want to do this so portray ME! My true SELF. And this will benefit ME!

But really, WILL it benefit you?

No, not really. It's a waste of time. Humans want to know about themselves, but this doesn't help current problems like world hunger or fighting cancer. Or what about those people dying? I bet THEY aren't thinking of MEMEMEMEMEMEMEEEEEEEE all the time.

There's a difference.

Finding yourself versus finding the solution.

You choose.

Temperaments

Heart: You miss him.

Brain: No I don't.

Heart: ^^ Yeah you do.

Brain: Nope. He told me not to care anymore, remember?

Heart: Ironic. You can have emotions.

Brain: Guys don't have them. Who affords emotions in high school?

Heart: …

Heart: Like, everyone.

Brain: That makes me different then. Man up, heart.

Heart: You still take comfort thinking about it.

Brain: Really. Care to specify?

Heart:

Brain: Mm.

Heart: Your friends have seen you just drift off into your own little world.

Brain: And

Heart: I know what world you go into.

Brain: Well?

Heart:

Brain: That sounded like an Inception reference. Logic wins. Go away.

Brain: I should get over 50 pacers.

Heart: Good idea.

Brain: Wow 50 is easy.

Heart: Well, I'm kinda sweaty.

Brain: I think I should do 66.

Heart: *rasp

Brain:

Brain: Ugh. I only got 67. Look at those guys. They're still running.

Brain: ADSKFJK. That girl got 80? I want to run again.

Heart: You improved a lot.

Brain: It was shorter.

Heart: You still want to beat K-?

Brain: Duh. I want to run again. I could've done better.

Heart: I was about to explode.

Brain: My breathing technique was wrong. I keep forgetting.

Heart: Backing yourself up, yeah?

Brain: Shut up. Now I have to run a good mile.

Brain: These people are so freaking slow.

Heart: At painting?

Brain: Everything.

Heart: Give them a break.

Brain: They're pulling me down. I have more potential than this.

Heart: You need dumb people to make smart people look good. Bell curve, remember?

Brain: I should go to IMSA.

Heart: You can't. You have to stay and take care of your friends.

Brain: I have other friends.

Heart: You ruined your chance over the summer. Your SATs aren't good enough anymore.

Brain: THANKS. I KNOW. SHUT UP. IT'S TOO LATE.

Heart: Well?

Brain: I have to do Math Team. Science Olympiad. Badminton.

Heart: Good. You'll make up for not going to IMSA.

Brain: Those guys are going to be the next geniuses. They're going to be scientists and save the world. I'll be so dumbed down.

Heart: You wanted to be a doctor..

Brain: K- said I couldn't, remember? Mom also said I wasn't patient enough.

Heart: You're smart enough to do something else.

Brain: It's not that easy.

Heart: No duh. You can't substitute anything for hard work.

Brain: I have to succeed.

Heart:*snort. Your Teacher Letter. You're quoting that?

Brain: No. The Teacher Letter quoted me.

Heart: Fine. I'm with you on this.

Brain: No emotions.

Heart: Ugh.

Brain: Hello butt.

Butt: Hey.

Brain: Well aren't you big.

Heart: …

Brain: Mm?

Heart: Impatient for puberty much?

Brain: Dude. It's my own butt. Get out of here.

Heart: No way. It's my butt too. Don't get me into that emotional self-image stuff.

Brain: Thought you were supposed to embrace that once in a while.

Heart: Not on self-image.

Brain:

Heart: AHAHA. HEART USES LOGIC.

Brain: Dear. Haha okay you win. Good job.

Epidemic!

Of the female nerds.

I do not lie. Every other one of us is sick. I am 99% sure that the rest will follow as well.

After snuffling, hacking, and coughing my way through Labor Day weekend, though, I realized something very interesting. Very. Interesting.

And no, I did not realize that I sound like a sickly old man. Although it's true.

REGARDLESS...

I realized that my lovely little common cold gave me some insight on my actual world and my actual school.

It's difficult, you know. Becoming so suddenly aware of these things. Here's what I found out about myself:

1. Trusting people is good. I'm good at that. But I put my trust sometimes in the wrong people.
2. I'd much rather protect my friends than save myself first.
3. I'm oblivious. Really oblivious. But so hyperaware of everything else WOWWWW this world is screwed up.
4. I'm crazy. (Oh wait! Ahahaha, we knew that. I should really remove this from this list, but since I actually realized I'm crazier than I thought, I'll keep it.)
5. I'm a sucker for chick flicks, which makes me sound so unbelievably shallow. It's true. *sigh*